Family Portrait (Kingsley Family Trilogy Book 1)

by Rebecca Paulinyi

  “No idea,” Imogen responded sleepily, tucking herself closer to Zach. Her eyes were closing, and she couldn’t remember what time Ella, or William, had said they would be returning. He subconsciously shifted himself so that they were both lying on the sofa, her head resting on his chest, his arms around her, and closed his eyes momentarily. He could feel she was falling asleep on him – he’d have to move her in a moment, he thought, and go home. But it was so nice and warm.

  “Imogen?” a sharp voice enquired over an hour later, when both Zach and Imogen were soundly asleep. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Having found her ‘daughter’ curled up asleep with a guy on the settee when she came home the previous night, Ella was understandably worried. She remembered being fifteen – and couldn’t help but wonder what the two had been up to. Did she need to brave the sex talk? Or was Imogen too old for that – would someone have already said all that to her? It was difficult to know how much of a mother figure to be, and whether being too much of one would just cause even more problems.

  Passing by the answer machine, she noticed a message had been left, and proceeded to press the button she hadn’t noticed flashing.

  “I’m looking for Imogen Meyer. This is the number I was given – if this message gets to her, can you get her to call me. It’s Jack, on 07695431876.” The message ended abruptly, and Ella stared at the machine for a good few minutes after it had finished. It was rare for Imogen to receive calls on the house phone – not that Ella had a problem with it, but Imogen tended to prefer using her mobile – and on the previous occasions, it had never been a name she hadn’t recognised.

  Jack. She knew it wasn’t anyone Imogen had mentioned, and couldn’t help but be curious.

  Imogen was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen – and that was because she was locked in her bedroom. Despite the fact that what Ella thought she’d seen the night before was actually pretty innocent – perhaps not totally, but definitely not what Ella had thought – she knew Ella would be questioning her. And she really could not be bothered with questions that morning: she was still on a high from realising Zach really did care for her.

  “Imogen?” Ella shouted up the stairs – and Imogen ignored her. For a moment, it seemed as though her ignorance had worked – the shout didn’t sound again. It wasn’t long, however, before a knock on the door signalled Imogen had had no such luck.

  “Imogen?” she asked once more, pushing the door open gently before Imogen had time to say she could come in. Or couldn’t.

  “Look, I’m not interested in-”

  “This isn’t about last night, Imogen, although I want a word with you about that later. There’s a message on the phone for you – someone called Jack looking for you. He’s left a number.”

  Imogen’s face drained of colour, and not because Ella had said she wanted to talk about the previous night.

  No, it was the name Jack.

  Surprise and apprehension flooded through her, leaving her cheeks white.

  “Who’s Jack?” Ella found herself asking, alarmed by Imogen’s reaction to the name, and Imogen felt herself responding, despite her usual reluctance to share anything with the Kingsleys.

  “My brother,” she told Ella, who was stood in the door way, leant against the doorframe. “I haven’t seen him, spoken to him, heard from him since I was about eleven. He’s never seen Abby.” She was staring, blankly, into space whilst answering Ella, hardly realising what she was saying, only wondering one question: why now? After he’d left, there’d be nothing: no contact at Christmas, birthdays, when Abby was born, when their mother died. When their father died. When they were taken into care. No, nothing – and now, suddenly, a phone call.

  “Your brother?” Predictably, this news surprised Ella: after all, Imogen had never mentioned it to her, or even to Social Services. It had to have been on record somewhere, but it hadn’t been mentioned. His name hadn’t been brought up in the five years or so since he’d left home, walked out without taking a backward glance.

  “My older brother. He left…with my sister.” It was a similar situation to the way she felt and spoke about her parents: speaking about Jack wasn’t nearly so painful as speaking about Fleur. She found herself being able to say Jack’s name, just about – but not managing to mention her sister’s.

  “I didn’t know you and Abigail-” she used Abby’s name without prompting, something that would have pleased Imogen, had she been paying any attention to her surroundings. “-well, I hadn’t a clue you had any other siblings.” She could tell the information had shocked, surprised and possibly scared Imogen, and so moved towards her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Is there a problem, Imogen?” She may have been sharing more than usual, but she suddenly snapped back to reality.

  “No, no problem,” she answered; her usual, snappy self once more. Well, that was better than the weird, blank face she’d been sporting the moment previously.

  “Okay…” Ella said, not completely satisfied that she was telling the truth. “Are you going to ring him back?”

  “Um. Yeah, sometime. Do you have the number?” She managed to phrase a coherent question, and Ella passed her the slip of paper she had scribbled the number on, and stood up to leave.

  “If there is problem…well, you know I’ll always help anyway I can.” Imogen blocked her out, and considered her options, not even noticing she’d left.

  Firstly, she could ring him – and open up that can of worms. Look back at all the stuff she’d locked away in that box in her mind – all that stuff she’d promised wouldn’t ruin this holiday. Secondly, she could ignore that he’d rung, and hope Ella didn’t mention it again. Although there was always the chance that he had the address. There was also the chance that if she did ring, Fleur would be with him – and she wasn’t sure if that was a pro or con in her mental calculations. Even her thoughts were beginning to lack coherency, as she closed her eyes and laid her head back on the cool pillow. Every time anything went right, something came along to mess it all up again. Was that the way it was always going to be?

  With a sigh, she forced her eyes open once more, and looked at the number. She would have to call him, she knew it – and she’d just have to hope it wouldn’t ruin her week off school. She pulled herself out of bed, and threw on some tracksuit bottoms and an old t-shirt. What was the point in getting dressed properly, when she didn’t plan on going out? Fumbling around for her mobile – she wasn’t going to make this call downstairs, where everyone would be listening – she hit dial.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Zach.” She felt calmer just speaking to him – and wondered if she could tell him all about her problem. The first problem, however, was getting out of this house: she suddenly felt extremely suffocated, and aware of how many people there were who could listen in on her conversations. People who could know the secrets she’d kept for years.

  “Let me guess. You’re grounded? I’m sorry – I wasn’t thinking, I just fell asleep.”

  Imogen laughed a little – she couldn’t help it, he sounded cute when he was apologetic; something he wasn’t very often.

  “No, she hasn’t grounded me – yet. She wants to talk about it later, and I need to get out of here.” She had a suspicion that Ella would be going for the sex talk, and that would be too awkward for words. Besides, she hadn’t slept with Zach – and she didn’t need any words of advice or caution from Ella.

  “Come round here then.” Imogen grinned as he said what she’d hoped he would. “Eve’s got her little lot of girlfriends round, and they’ll be pleased to see you – and you know I won’t complain at a chance to see you, either.” Imogen was saying bye as she pulled a clean pair of jeans on, and hanging up with a fresh t-shirt over her head. With one foot on the top stair, she through a jacket on. She pulled open the front door, and only then told Ella she was going out.

  “I’ve just gotta do something, I’ll be back later!” she sho
uted, slamming the door behind her before Ella had a chance to comment, or refuse to allow her out. She expected to be grounded at some point, but she would avoid it for as long as possible.

  Ella stood, a little stunned for a moment, in the hallway, continuing to dry the glass she’d been drying in the kitchen before Imogen’s hurried goodbye.

  “I guess – she is fifteen. She’s perfectly capable of going out on her own. She seemed fine when she left…” she murmured to herself. Meanwhile, Imogen was racing down the street, and was at Zach’s in record time – not that it took her particularly long usually.

  The door was open before she managed to knock.

  “Hey, what was with bailing on us last night then?” Eve asked, pulling her inside.

  “Sorry, I had to-”

  “Babysit. Yeah, we know, Zach filled us in. Right before he ditched us too!” Carrie joined in.

  “Hey.” The only voice she was really listening out for sounded then – as Zach came into the hallway, and leant down to kiss her hello.

  “Get a room, please.”

  “Don’t make me throw up my breakfast!”

  “Can you not manage to keep your hands off my brother for five minutes?”

  Zach and Imogen just laughed, but even laughter wasn’t enough to put from Imogen’s mind who had called that morning.

  It didn’t take Zach long to work out that there was something wrong with Imogen: perhaps it was her uneasy stance on the couch, her ignorance of the conversations going on around her, or her lack of laughter at the film in the background that had, on previous occasions, had them both in hysterics.

  “Anyone want a drink?” he asked casually, and the three other girls placed their orders for Diet Cokes and orange juices. “Can you give me a hand, Imogen?” he asked, repeating himself when she didn’t respond, and tugging on her hand so that she would follow him to the kitchen.

  “Right, what’s up, Imogen?” A hint of frustration was in his question, as well as concern, as though he’d been trying unsuccessfully to work out what could be wrong.

  “Sorry…” Imogen answered, uncharacteristically, as she bit her lip gently. “I know I’m not… completely with it today. It’s just-” Could she tell him stuff like this? Serious stuff? She didn’t want to burden their relationship with anything heavy, but then he’d already been so good with Abby, she felt she could trust him with anything.

  “It’s just?” he prompted her, a little impatient, but mostly worried.

  “I had a phone call last night that I wasn’t expecting. Well, an answer machine message I wasn’t expecting. From… my brother.” She found it pretty hard to say the word, but Zach didn’t comment – he didn’t even reply with the expected ‘I didn’t know you had a brother’, for which she was grateful. “I haven’t spoken to him in years, and he wants me to ring him back. I guess I’m-” She wasn’t sure what she was, or the reasoning behind it, but she knew she needed to come up with something, “apprehensive. It’s been so long, and I don’t know what he wants, why, after all this time…” Without knowing the full story – which Imogen definitely didn’t want Zach to know – he couldn’t possibly fully understand why her brother ringing could worry her so much, why it would be an issue. But he took it in his stride, not questioning: not for the first time, Imogen wondered how he was so in tune to her. He picked up so much about her – like not plaguing her with questions that she didn’t have answers to. He was silent for a moment.

  “Maybe it would be best to get it over with. See what it is he wants. What can he do? Even if he knows where you’re living, you’re not there at the minute. You don’t have to see him, or say or do anything you don’t want to.” He balanced three cans of Diet Coke that he’d taken from the fridge as he grabbed the carton of orange juice.

  “Hell, I’ll kidnap you from those Kingsleys if it’d help.” Without having a clue what the problem was, he was managing to calm her. So much so, in fact, that she could see that calling him was her only real option.

  “Thank-you,” she said. It was fast becoming a phrase she used regularly in Zach’s presence.

  “Use the line in my room – that way you can have some privacy.”

  He took her there, but left again immediately, with the promise that he was only downstairs. Imogen sat on his bed, taking in the features of his masculine room to start with – so different from the bedroom on the floor below, which she knew to be distinctly feminine. The blue and white checked duvet cover, made neatly on the bed (probably by a cleaner) matched the deep blue of the curtains. The walls were white, contrasting with the deep wood that his wardrobe was made from. Sat, propped up against the pillows, her legs dangling over the side of the bed, she took a deep breath – and dialled.

  She was hoping for an answer-phone, and yet hadn’t a clue what she would say, what she could put in a message. When, after the third ring, a voice answered, she was caught by surprise: she was silent for a moment.

  “Hello?” the voice she recognised asked again. “Who is it?” The voice was rough, a little hostile. It sounded exactly the same as the last time she’d heard it; nervously, she cleared her throat.

  “Imogen,” she answered, her voice barely more than a whisper, conveying the nerves that she felt.

  “Oh.” The voice was shocked – had he not been expecting her to call back, after his answer-phone message? “I didn’t recognise the number.” Trust him to focus on the trivial details, so he wouldn’t have to address the big problems.

  “I’m not ringing from my…home.” It seemed an odd word to apply to the Kingsleys’ house, but that was what it was. “How did you get my number?” She realised she was doing the same thing Jack had been, but didn’t care – she wanted to know what was going on.

  “I rang that care home place you were in – Pear Tree, was it called?”

  “Mulberry Bush.” Imogen answered icily, her thoughts screaming that she wouldn’t have been there at all if he’d cared about her and Abby in the slightest.

  “Yeah, there. They said you’d been adopted, but wouldn’t tell me where you were – some confidentiality thing. And I couldn’t prove I was your brother, not on the phone. So I went there, and found one of your old mates – she had the number.”

  “Why?”

  “How should I know why she had your number?” Imogen hadn’t been asking that. She knew who he’d spoken to, because there was only one friend who’d had the Kingsleys’ number, and it wasn’t even one of her friends, it was one of Abby’s. Genevieve, a little five-year-old girl, had cried when the Meyer siblings had left, and Imogen had felt sorry for her. She’d written the number down so that she could call Abby – not that she had, yet – and she’d watched as the little girl had solemnly folded the little scrap of paper up, and placed it inside a heart locket she held round her neck. No, Imogen knew why the girl had the number: that hadn’t been her question.

  “I meant why did you go and get my number.” She wished her voice could be more than this pathetic whisper, wished it could show some of the true anger she felt, but somehow she couldn’t summon it up. Maybe it was Jack, maybe it was a link to her past – something had her scared. And that didn’t happen very often.

  “Well, it’s been so long, I thought I should…well, the last time I saw you was that day before we had to leave. There are a few things that were never really explained, Imogen,” he answered, his voice taking on a warning tone now.

  “You’re my sister – don’t you think I should at least know where you live?” Imogen sighed a silent sigh of relief: he didn’t know where she lived, or at least she assumed not, from what he’d said. He had a number, that was true, but no address. It was something: she was clutching at straws, probably because she felt fear coursing through her veins. Irrational fear – Imogen wasn’t afraid of anyone. But fear all the same. She remembered how like their father Jack was…

  “I’m busy, Jack. I’ve got my life together, not to mention looking after Abigail, without any help from you.”
Her voice was stronger now, and did not betray her fear, for which she was thankful. She did not want to explain the suspicion surrounding their father’s death to him. Although she was pretty sure he knew everything about their mum’s death – and didn’t seem too bothered about it. Bastard. She could bet he’d been willing enough to forgive their father, but that it would be a whole different story when he heard her tale.

  “Don’t be like that, Imogen,” he said, unapologetically, “I didn’t just up and leave you.”

  “That’s exactly what you did!” The fury burnt through the fear for a moment.

  “I left you with our parents; that’s hardly a crime.”

  “You left me with a battered wife and a wife beater, Jack. Don’t talk crap, you took off with Fleur and left me to deal with the rest of it. You haven’t even met Abigail, yet you left her in the middle of all that mess as well.” She usually had better control over her emotions, and yet she felt a few tears welling up in her eyes as her rage subsided a little. She blinked them back furiously, as she tried to hear his response whilst resisting the urge to slam the phone down.